(hello hello! This is a story I hope to keep ongoing as I write it. It includes an Oc, but I assure you that it is well written and hopefully well done. I enjoy any criticism and will work on formatting when I can. Posting on a phone is a pain.)
On the edge of the Shurima Desert lie a small oasis, cut off from the world of Valoran by the desert’s harsh climate and the nearby mountainous ridges of the Tempest Flats. It was a small area, generally untouched by mankind and otherwise. A small wooden house could be found at its center, on the shorelines of the small oasis, and that is where one would be able to trace the whereabouts of Arlen, the Forgotten Demacian.
********* Dear Diary,
******** Today I found some people outside. I think they were Noxians. Their hearts full of poison. I don’t know what they wanted. It was something about the land here. I don’t know. But it’s mine.
********* Arlen shut the book closed and locked it with the key, although there wasn’t anyone to truly take the book itself. He brushed his hair to the side and stood up, surveying his room, or moreover, the house itself. It was simple; simply a chair with a desk, and his bed lay nearby. How long had it been since he left? He couldn’t ask anyone, and it would be silly to try. He had made sure nobody would remember him. He just wasn’t sure why he was still so terrified of being recognized. He grabbed the fishing pole lying in the corner of the room next to an incredibly decorated golden shield and went outside, staring up at the clear moonlight. It reflected off the lake nicely.
********* He shortly found himself sitting on the side of the small pool of water, fishing rod dangling lazily into its depths. The lake never seemed to run out of fish, but this was more of a blessing than anything. It let him be alone. Yet lately, Arlen wondered if being alone was all that it had seemed to be when he left. The thought of leaving crossed his mind for the first time in a long while. If those Noxians were going to come back, he would have to go some time or the other. Especially if they kept visiting. Arlen had stopped aging for some time now. His heart hadn’t beat in quite some time, and it left him feeling cold. The hearts of others were vibrant, exciting, fleeting, and sometimes scary. But that was the fun part of it all, he supposed. The line pulled on him, and Arlen sharply reeled up the fish tugging on the line.
********* Dear Diary,
********* I’m going on a trip tomorrow. You’re coming with me, of course, and the other thing, too. I need to go to that place. The big one. I think they’ll help me. It’ll be fun. I’ll just have to travel through the Desert, is all.
********* The next day, Arlen awoke to a sharp knocking on the door. His eyes flickered open, a dull sort of blue, and he shortly answered the door to find the same two men from yesterday. “Oh,” He began. “Hello.” It was a faraway greeting, as if he was looking past the two men, somewhere deeper. They exchanged looks, clearly aware that this person was likely to not hear them. They began speaking anyway, but Arlen need not know what they were to say. He read their hearts.
********* They were average people, with equally average hearts. But they desired something more: power, control, anything they could get their hands on. Hearts of Greed. It disgusted Arlen in a way that somehow hit home to him, but he wasn’t sure how. He snapped out of his trance as the taller one ended his statement. “So, yes, if you will sign here, it will save everyone much trouble and be mutually beneficial to everyone? Do you agree?” His lips curled upwards into a smile, but not one of sincerity. Arlen hated contracts, and had half a mind to rip up the neatly folded document the man had pressed into his hands. Instead, he simply handed it back to them.
********* “No, thank you. I have no interest for such silly things. This is my land. The Oasis is mine.” He said, with finality in his voice. The two Noxians exchanged looks once more, a glint in their eyes, and their fake smiles melted away akin to ice cream in the desert. They approached him, and Arlen found himself reaching for the shield that lay at the corner near the door.
********* “That’s much too bad,” The shorter one began. He was stockier than the other, but didn’t look particularly strong.
********* “Yes, too bad,” The taller one continued. “We werer hoping to settle this peacefully, but Noxus must expand, you understand. Our population needs this territory. So I hope you understand…”
******** “Die!” The shorter man shouted, before lunging at Arlen, who immediately grabbed the ornate shield and protected the blow from what seemed to be a concealed knife in the man’s long sleeves. He quickly followed up with a quick bash to the fellow’s head, sending him reeling back, clutching his head.
********* “Leave now. I don’t wish to cause irreversible damage to you.” Arlen said firmly, raising the shield to his chest, his other arm outstretched.
********* “…A Demacian!” The taller man’s eyes widened upon seeing the shield in full view. “Well, this should be good. Byrne, let’s gut this spineless fool!” His friend nodded, and they both attacked in unison. But Arlen did not want to kill anyone. He closed his eyes, and when he reopened them, he stared straight into their hearts.
********* Byrne and Lorne were brothers of little note. They were born into the lower end of Noxian society, and eventually climbed their way into its government, doing what they could to get there. If they thought it would get them further ahead, they would decapitate their brother without a thought. Such wretched souls need not remember such things. Arlen’s hand stretched out towards the men as they were inches away from meeting their mark, and uttered the simple word that destroyed what they were, are, and could ever be.
********* Byrne and Lorne stopped in their tracks immediately, and fell to the ground, their bodies crumpling. They shortly began to crawl to their knees, and upon seeing each other, began to mindlessly tear at the other. Arlen looked away, ashamed at his actions.
********* “Acting on subconscious alone, the mind goes by its simple instincts. In this case, hunger.” He murmured to himself. “I need to go.” He looked at the large establishment in the horizon, looming over the mountains. He was avoiding it for so long, but he couldn’t resist the call of the Institute much longer. The Noxians would become suspicious, and send more, and upon finding the corpse of whoever won the battle, and likely the mindless body of the other, declare battle upon the Oasis. Especially the Oasis of a Demacian. Arlen turned back inside his home and grabbed his book, fitting it into the pack he had come here with, and returned outside, avoiding the bloody marks on both of the men, biting into each other. He turned outside, and began to head off towards the desert, incredibly ill prepared with simply a shield and a bag. It would be okay.
********* And so the Forgotten Demacian began his journey to the Institute of War.
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